The Best Blades
by RoxasGuyXIII
Summary: The aftermath of the Battle of the Star Forge is messy, especially for Revan. The entire situation only proves the old saying: the best blades are the ones left in their sheaths.


**Standard Disclaimer:** Clarifiying Identification: I am HK-47, here to faciliate communications and terminate hostles. Annoyed Statement: Master does not own Revan or Knights of the Old Republic. I will terminate any meatbag that tries to sue my master.

Revan, scourge of the Jedi, conqueror of the Mandalorians, Dark Lord of the Sith. Some would use these titles interchangeably. The man in question stood on the roof of a dark temple, holding two lit lightsabers. One was purple, the other was red. He'd switched the primary focusing crystal of his lightsaber for the assault on the Star Forge, figuring that capitalizing on the fear of the Sith there would make the battle easier and so save lives. However, he'd underestimated his opponents' terror of their current master, and their ambition, and they'd merely laughed at his appearance, instead of fearing it. Now, staring into the blood-red arc of energy, all he could see was the war he'd waged on the Republic that he'd sworn to defend. All he could hear was the screams of the innocents slain in his name. All he could feel was the corrosive, seductive touch of the Dark Side of the Force. He would never again submerge in the dark currents of power he felt there, but he couldn't shake the feeling of oily taint that coated his senses as he tried to reach for the Light Side. He knew of so-called "gray" Jedi, but they didn't truly serve both Light and Dark Sides of the Force. They were just more... liberal in their methods than most Jedi were. Revan sighed. He was neither liberal nor Light. He'd fallen, and fallen hard. Many sentients had been harmed because of his choices. The blood of entire planets were on his hands, entire armies had died on his blades. Revan knew this sickness well, having felt it ever since he first started becoming aware of who he was. These were. his darkest thoughts, his deepest fears. Not even Bastila, the woman he loved, the woman who shared most of his mind, knew. He now longed for the days on Taris, when life was so simple. He was just one more smuggler, pressed into service. He just had one job to do, and his methods and motivations weren't particularly important. The erstwhile Dark Lord of the Sith shook his head, knowing his thoughts were a muddled mess. He turned his face to the stars, and contemplated their cold beauty. He'd always loved the starry sky, and he'd spent hours gazing into it from the roof of the enclave that he'd trained at. The bright pinpricks always allowed him to escape the problems that he was facing, and encouraged his active mind to dream of possibilities far beyond the scope of reality. He smirked, recalling his once-dear dream of becoming a Jedi-smuggler-hero-captain, soaring across space, saving people and righting all the wrongs in the galaxy. When he'd confided in his Master, the man had laughed uproariously, then told his younger self that it was a good dream. However, the man had continued, if Revan had put as much time into his work at mastering Niman as he did at dreaming, then he'd already be a noted Jedi battle master. Then they'd both laughed. Revan missed the old man, but that brought up another particularly painful memory. His master had been the first Jedi to discovery what he and Malak had done, and he'd confronted Revan alone about it. He'd begged Revan to reconsider, to come back to the Light. Revan, steeped in the Dark Side, had merely laughed, and proceeded to overpower his master in a duel. Just before he'd killed his mentor, he'd even taunted him about being a Battle master. Revan remembered the rush of power and exaltation that he'd felt when his master's headless corpse hit the ground. Now, that sensation filled him with disgust and made him sick. His mind was at war with itself now, the Dark Lord fighting against the Prodigal Knight. Because of the Jedi Council's meddling, he'd probably be diagnosed with Multiple Personality Disorder if he ever visited a psychiatrist or Mind Healer. He chuckled, his thoughts sinking deeper into confusion and self-loathing. Circles, circles, circles, he was nothing but a rat running around on a treadmill and biting the hands of those who fed it. Something pricked at the corner of his mind, and he whirled to see a trio of black-clad humanoids standing behind him. Their extendable cortosis staves and black masks immediately identified them as Sith assassins, trained to feed off the Jedi that they were sent to kill. Two more beings materialized behind them, both in dark Sith robes. They lowered their hoods and shed their cloaks, revealing themselves to be the Anzati trainers of the assassins. The one on the left spoke first.

"Revan. You have betrayed us."

The Prodigal Knight shook his head. "No, I came back to myself. You brought this doom on yourself when you embraced the Dark side."

The Anzat to the right snarled. "Look at yourself, Revan. You were once a powerful Sith Lord, ruler of an empire. Now what are you? Another pawn of the Council?"

Revan sighed. "No. I've never been a pawn. I chose this path."

"Then you chose death!"

The three assassins lunged, one sweeping at his legs, another at his head, and the third vaulting over him to attack from behind. Revan forgot all his earlier emotional turmoil, and sank back into the familiar cadence of a fight. Working quickly, he spun his red and purple blades, blocking the whirling staves and pushing back one of the Sith. He dropped his lightsabers, grabbed the staff and pulled. The resulting force spun the man around into the swing of another. The metal rod smashed into the temple of its victim, and he dropped, limply, to the ground. Having reduced the odds to two on one, Revan smirked at the Sith assassins as they fell back. He connected the hilts of his sabers, and twisted. Now, instead of holding two individual sabers of blue and purple, he held an orange saberstaff. Beckoning, he dropped into a defensive stance as his opponents charged as one. They atatcked in the same fashion, one sweeping in low, while the other swung high. Revan's saberstaff intercepted both staves, and he pushed them back. As they stumbled, he swept his staff through the torso of the righmost assassin, before planting the other end in its partner's throat. The Dark Jedi clapped, smirking, as they discarded their robes and drew lightsabers. One activated two shotos that he held in a reverse grip, while the other held a lightsaber with a curved hilt. _So we've got an Ataru __and Makashi practitioner. This will be an __interesting__ duel._

The fist Anzat lept, and the duel was begun. Revan was shocked at the skill the two possessed as a unit, for the Ataru master would leap in and distract Revan until the Makashi master stepped in and would cage him in with bladework until the other Dark Jedi recovered his energy for another charge. The entire time, both taunted him about anything they could. Most of it was mere buzzing in Revan's ears, until one comment struck him between the eyes. "You know, that Jedi schutta must really be something if you're willing to leave an entire empire just for a taste. Maybe I'll look her up after I finish with you."

The Anzanti's crude comments stirred something in Revan, something dark and angry. "You'll pay for that!" Roaring, Revan reached out with the force and crushed the Dark Jedi's lungs. The humanoid fell, gasping and coughing up blood. Revan turned to the shocked Makashi duelist, and threw himself into a savage velocity that quickly overwhelmed the man's weaker defences and left him in two smoking pieces. Revan spit at the corpses, still riding the wave of dark energy, then groaned as he realized what he'd done. Revulsion swept over him again, stronger than before. The impact of the past week's battles and torments finally caught up with him, and he no longer had some other concern to push them away. They tore through his mind, leaving him helplessly sinking deeper into the darkness. Retching, he fell to his knees and stayed there. Dimly, he felt Bastila's concern for him echoing through their bond. He reached for it, but the darkness clung to him like oil and swallowed him. He was cut off from the world, dimly aware of it but unable to react. He was left alone with his despair and self-loathing. The next sensation he was aware of was Bastila picking him up and slinging his arm over her slender shoulders. She wrinkled her nose at the sharp smell of vomit, but didn't complain or shy away from him. "Oh, Revan... What have you done to yourself?"

Her voice was soft under the moonlight, and he understood all over again the fact that she was the most beautiful being in the entire galaxy. "Bastila... I..."

Words failed Revan at that point, love warring with despair inside him, neither winning. Her face crumpled with both concern and sadness as she reached through the bond and felt his emotional turmoil. "Oh, Revan..." She said again, even softer this time. "We were all so worried about the Lord of Revenge returning or Malak finally conquering the galaxy that we never stopped to consider the impact that all this would have on you... You've been nearly constantly subjected to shock after torture after fight, all the while fighting off a pall of the Dark Side. Is it any wonder that you broke? Any lesser man would have shattered long before now. Instead, you stayed strong, even strong enough to bicker with me and save any poor soul you could. That could always make me smile, you know... That wicked little half-smirk you got when you'd finally gotten a reaction out of me... or that peaceful, almost sad smile that you'd wear when you'd watch somebody walk away after you helped them. Now, all I can feel from you is pain, instead of that strength. I'm so, so sorry."

Revan shook his head. "No, no. You... don't... have... to... be... sorry... My... fault..." It took all of his will to force the words out past the darkness beating down on his brain, taunting him about his failures.

Bastila snorted. "Not anymore it isn't. The old Revan is gone. He died on that ship. You have to realize that!"

Revan shrugged, unable to do anything more. She sighed, and pushed him into his room. "Go, get cleaned up." She threw a bundle of robes into the refresher, then pointed after them. "Now. Or I'll get HK to make you."

Shuddering at the thought, Revan managed to force himself to go through the familiar motions of peeling off the fouled robes, showering, and pulling the new ones on. He made his way back out into the main quarters of the suite that he was sharing with Jolee and Carth, expecting to see Bastila waiting for him. She was, but he hadn't expected to see her looking so angry. She glared at him, and he slumped back into the seat. They continued to look at each other, him unable to match her intensity, until she sighed and broke eye contact. "Revan, why must you do this to yourself? Why do you have to be so insistent on worrying about your sudden reversion?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but she cut him off. "You don't just go to sleep and wake up wanting to take over the galaxy. Revan's, your, fall was the product of a long war and an unknown trigger. You are, pardon the cliche, a new man! So stop shackling yourself with the past! You said you love me. That's how you brought me back after I'd fallen. So why do you insist on tormenting me like this?"

Revan started. "Torment? What?"

"Yes, torment! I can feel the torture you're putting yourself through because of our bond, you di'kutla little osik!"

Revan started at the Mandalorian curses, and then her words sunk in. "Bastila... I'm sorry..."

She whirled on him, glaring. "So do something! Don't just sit there!"

The small part of Revan's mind snickered at that. _Well, if you give me that much of an invitation..._

Before the rest of his mind caught up with that little part, Revan was standing and Bastila was in his arms and they were kissing. When they finally separated for oxygen, Bastila smirked up at Revan. "So, what's this supposed to mean?"

Revan considered, then answered seriously. "Well, you said that it was because I love you that you were able to return from the Dark Side. Maybe, you could be my anchor against falling into despair... since you love me?"

Bastila smiled. "Of course I do." Then her smile grew into a smirk again. "Of course, you'll need a new hobby if you aren't taking over the galaxy or moping around and being emo in the corner."

Revan smirked right back. "Oh, I'll think of something, Princess."

**A/N: **And, cut. Thanks all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. This has been bouncing around since I got KOTOR and TSL for Christmas. Leave a review or PM if you've got questions, comments, or concerns. And here's a shout-out to my sister. She knows who she is. ;)


End file.
